Perspective
by Nonsuch
Summary: I'm gonna live my dreams, I won't let no one hold me back. People will try to stop me, you can bet on that, but they'll fail. They'll fail so badly I'll be able to sit back and laugh at them. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter One: Flight

**DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Labyrinth.**

**Isn't it a tragedy?**

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Flight 

Voices penetrated the floor of Sarah's room, dragging her out of her dream. She could pick out two distinctive speakers, one was female, the other was male; they traded words in harsh, urgent whispers. Curious, Sarah manoeuvred herself out of her bed, wandering out into the hall. She didn't have the courage to investigate alone, so took her scruffy toy bear with her, pressing it against her chest in an effort to comfort her rapidly beating heart.

She identified one of the voices instantly upon leaving her room: her mommy was speaking. Encouraged by this, she approached the stairs. She stopped just before going down them when she saw her mother's companion. She was with a man Sarah had never seen before. He spoke in a soft, mysterious voice which left her hopelessly confused. He sounded strange, and Sarah would have been convinced he was speaking in a foreign language if she hadn't heard recognizable words emerge from his mouth. Sarah couldn't see him clearly despite creeping down onto the top stair to get a better look; she could only make out his long, dark coat and pale, blond hair. His face was completely indiscernible.

"Have you got everything?" He asked.

"Yes. Let's go."

The man took her mother's arm, leading her towards the door. He stopped just before turning the handle.

"What is it?"

"What about your kid? You have a little girl, don't you? What about her?"

Linda paused, crinkling her brow. "I'll write to her. Don't worry, she'll understand. She's a brave girl, besides; she can always come and stay with us. It's not like we'll be in Europe forever!" She giggled, only to force the laugh down her throat and clap a silk wrapped hand over her mouth after a few moments of loose, impulsive laughter. She glanced at her partner, smirking at him and suppressing a snigger when he smiled back. Linda had come very close to forgetting she was supposed to be leaving in silence.

They left without speaking again, and closed the door behind them quietly.

Sarah climbed down the stairs as quickly as her short legs allowed, running to the door only to cry in despair when she attempted to open it. The handle was rigid and stiff, and no amount of effort made it move. Outside, a car engine started up. Sarah released the handle and darted to the window, forcing the curtains aside in order to make an opening for her head.

She only saw them leave thanks to the lamppost outside the house. It was drizzling outside, and the light radiated by the post was flecked with iridescent darts of rain.

Sarah crushed her nose against the bitterly cold glass in an effort to get close to them, but she only glimpsed the dark outline of their car and failed to hear the sound it made as it glided through the puddle that had formed in the road.

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Sarah received a postcard from her mother a few months later, weeks after Nana Williams had purged the house of Linda's image. The card featured a glossy, dramatically lit photo of Big Ben, and Linda had drawn a thick cluster of messy kisses underneath her message. Sarah stored it underneath her pillow, and drew it out every night so she could kiss the ink of her mother's pen.

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**A/N:** This is part of a series of short pieces (there will probably be six overall) I'm writing about a pre-Labyrinth Sarah. I'm mainly writing them as character building exercises for my big story, Thursday's Child, but thought I would put them up here in case anyone is interested in reading them.

For any people interested in Thursday's Child, I am still writing it very actively. Check out my profile for more information, and thank-you for your patience. Something will be happening soon.

I'm not sure whether Americans use the words 'scruffy' and 'drizzling' – I'd be interested in finding out though.

Oh yes, I'm sorry if there are any errors in this. I didn't get it betaed as I wanted to post something completely off my own back.

I hope it made an enjoyable read, and apologize for being bleak.

Oh yes, one more thing:

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW

Please!


	2. Chapter Two: Ballet

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Ballet

Miss Taylor watched as two lines of leotard encased girls skipped from one end of the room to the room, none of them showed a sign of flagging and their teacher smiled very, very slightly to herself. She was reasonably pleased with them. Moving prettily and giving the impression your limbs were actually willow branches were very important aspects of being a successful ballerina. If you could do those things _and _follow orders like an exceptionally obedient dog you practically had it made.

She looked at the girls closely, and glimpsed a motionless girl through a gap in the line. Sarah Williams was wearing pointe shoes that were several sizes too large for her. One of her hands was wrapped tightly around the bar, forcing her knuckles to jut out through her skin. Her free arm was fixed rigidly in the air. Her tongue poked out of her mouth, and her small, china doll like face rapidly turned a blotchy red as she concentrated all of her attention on rising onto her toes.

"Sarah!" Miss Taylor screeched at her, shocking Sarah and making her stumble. She crashed onto her knees, and her face instantly contorted in pain. But she didn't cry. Sarah was not prepared to show the lines of silent, staring girls that stood behind her a thing. The child pinned her bottom lip down with her teeth, and squeezed her eyes shut to black out her surroundings. She counted to herself in whispers to calm down, taking slow, careful breaths from the air. Miss Taylor ran towards her, bending over and reaching a hand down to touch her shoulder "Are you alright?" She asked.

Sarah nodded briskly, squirming to dislodge her teacher's hand.

"Can you get up?"

Without a word, Sarah pushed herself up off the floor. She was slightly unsteady for a few moments, but was soon as upright and secure as a tower block.

"Speak to me, sweetie." Sarah stared at her dubiously after being addressed so intimately. She wasn't quite cynical enough to realize that her teacher was interested exclusively in preventing Sarah from reporting that her ballet teacher was a witch. "Say something, dear. I have to know you're okay or you'll have to go and see the Doctor."

"I'm fine." She muttered, bounding across the room like a gazelle and returning to her place besides Miss Taylor within the space of a few seconds. "See?"

"Okay. Where did you get those shoes from? And don't pretend they're yours, they're practically slipping off."

Sarah didn't answer, scrutinizing her feet instead. Miss Taylor was perplexed when the child smiled, and could only conclude that she was admiring her pretty, cream silk shoes.

"Answer me, or I'll have to ring your father and tell him you've been stealing. Do you want me to do that?"

"I got em from the corner" she mumbled, gesturing in the direction of a large, blue backpack that sat at the back of the hall. Miss Taylor sighed and shook her head when she saw it. Marie Carter's backpack had practically set up home in the practice hall – the poor girl had the memory of a fish.

"Take them off, and put your shoes back on." Laboriously, Sarah began untying the lace of the shoes. She didn't appear to see any need for urgency, and Miss Taylor wasn't prepared to remove the shoes for her. Sarah Williams was six year old, and if there was anything she didn't need it was being treated like a baby.

When Sarah had removed them, she scurried off and recovered her normal shoes, yanking them on ruthlessly. The other girls continued to watch, and Sarah's cold, white face began to turn pink from humiliation.

"You do understand why I shouted at you, don't you?" Miss Taylor asked softly. Sarah stopped, and lifted her eyes away from her shoes, gazing at her with a horrible, unnerving fixedness. The cold intensity of Sarah's stare made Miss Taylor feel like squirming, but she managed to remain composed and told her "You could have broken your ankles, Sarah. You would never be able to dance again if you did that."

Sarah got up, and kicked the floor petulantly with one of her feet. "I knew what I was doing. Besides, I don't want to skip. Skipping's for babies."

Miss Taylor released a sigh "No, it isn't. Professional ballerinas have to practice just like you do. The only difference is that they have to work a hundred times harder. Now, back to the others." She clapped her hands loudly, claiming the class's attention. "Show's over girls, back in line. Go to the bar, I want you to position your feet for me."

Sarah, who had failed to move, piped up "But I don't-"

"Just do what I've asked, Sarah. I won't tell you again."

Sarah sloped towards the bar, finding a place in the line in-between two older girls. She proceeded to irritate Miss Taylor by going through all of the positions before their names were called out. She stood stock and smirked spitefully at the girls that surrounded her as they laboriously moved their feet into the correct positions.

Miss Taylor shook her head in despair. Sarah would never become a ballerina, she was certain of it. The child didn't know the first thing about patience.

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Later, when Sarah's father came to collect her, Miss Taylor took him to one side to speak to him about his daughter. After looking behind her to check that Sarah was out of earshot, she asked "Is there any reason why Sarah might be" she paused, searching for an appropriate yet inoffensive word to use "Unhappy, Mr Williams?"

"She hasn't been causing you any trouble has she?"

"No." Miss Taylor lied. "She just seems a bit preoccupied by something this evening, you know, being uncooperative, not getting along with the other girls. Things like that."

Mr Williams titled his head slightly, mashing his hands together and looking up at the netted ceiling of the gym in an effort to avoid Miss Taylor's eyes. "This day last year, her mother walked out. I'm amazed she remembers, to be honest. I always thought little kids had short memories," his head dropped, and he frowned, blatantly dwelling on what he had just said "Especially for dates, you know. But Sarah-"

Miss Taylor interrupted him, smiling in an attempt to alleviate his anxiety "Don't worry. I understand. It's just good to know why."

There was a lull in the conversation. The only sound was made by Sarah as she performed an improvised tap dance at the other end of the hall, completely oblivious to the adult's conversation. Eventually, Mr Williams spoke "Would you mind me asking your name?"

"Of course not. It's Irene."

They smiled at each other shyly. Years passed before they dared to exchange anything more.

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A.N: And instalment two. I hope it made a good read again. I'm aware that the set up is quite contrived, but still, Irene was either going to be involved with Sarah somehow or her future husband's secretary, wasn't she?

I have never been to a ballet lesson in my life, so writing about one might have been misguided. I will leave it to those of you that have done ballet to decide whether or not my research has paid off.

Please, please review. I love hearing from my readers and always reply.

Until tomorrow!

01/03/09 - updated with changes to dialogue - thanks to Yodeladyhoo!


	3. Chapter Three: Glamour

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Glamour 

"I love you so much, Mommy."

"I know you do, sweetheart. Just sit back and watch Uncle Jeremy now, there's a good girl." Sarah did not comply, instead she inclined her head to one side, leaning it into her mother's breast. Linda squirmed uncomfortably, looking down to check that Sarah wasn't creasing the Dior blouse Jeremy had just brought her for her birthday. The silk had rippled slightly just above the crown of her daughter's head, and although Linda bit her lip gently in frustration she didn't have the heart to make her move. She forced herself to ignore the creases, taking mental refuge in the thought that she could send it off to the dry cleaners the next day.

She returned her attention to the stage, training her eyes on Jeremy. He made a wonderful Richard III, and as far as Linda was concerned the ghastly make-up that had been plastered onto his face and his painful-looking limp failed to dim his beauty. Watching him recite Shakespeare as if he had originated the words made her long to sigh.

Much to Linda's despair, Sarah didn't really understand what was going on. She tried to project the impression that she did, repeatedly answering enquiries about the plays she was taken to see by stating that she felt the actors had 'depth'. She was also very fond of the word 'sophistication'. Linda blamed Robert for this. If he gave a damn about culture, Sarah would have considered _Richard III_ as fun and comprehensible as _The Wizard of Oz._

Sarah fell asleep before the intermission, and her breath came in small, warm puffs that periodically gusted over Linda's naked arm. Linda didn't notice. She was far too occupied by the stage.

A roar of applause sounded at the end of the act, and Linda joined in, clapping furiously as she beamed down at the stage. Sarah stirred, yawning widely. "Is it over?" She asked.

"No, darling. It's just the break. Come on, we're going to go and see Uncle Jeremy." She got out of her seat, and found Sarah's hand. They hurried out of the box, and Linda began leading her sleepy eyed daughter through a maze of corridors. The first few they travelled through were richly decorated; they looked like they had been copied from the Hilton. The illusion of grandeur was stripped away by degrees as they continued; the ceilings they walked beneath soon boasted paper lampshades rather than chandeliers. By the time they were backstage, the floor lacked a carpet and the only light came from cheap, unshielded light bulbs that buzzed obnoxiously. They made Sarah's eardrums shake.

Sarah hated going behind the scenes of the various theatres her mother insisted on taking her to. Seeing how the plays were produced robbed them of some of their magic. She hated seeing the actors removing their make-up, and despised discovering how the marvellous feats made her gasp and clap when she was simply a member of the audience were achieved. But the worst thing of all was hearing the actors speak out of character. She didn't want to hear Titania talking about her brother's drug addiction to Hermia in the canteen, and clapped her hands over her ears and struggled to suppress a whimper when two bit-players started discussing the women they had fucked over the weekend in front of her. Somehow, both men had managed to forget they were in the company of a six year old.

Her experience of the theatre was made even more loathsome by the fact Sarah was taken to see plays that didn't make any sense. Sarah occasionally doubted they were being performed in English; her pet theory was that the actors were speaking in gibberish, just to confuse her.

But Sarah never considered telling her mother not to take her. Every moment she had with her was considered a blessing so Sarah said nothing, coping with the environment as well as she could.

Linda repeatedly nodded and smiled to people backstage, some of them stopped and attempted to talk to Sarah, causing her to dip her eyes and stare intently at her feet. They always insisted on patronizing her ('oh aren't you sweet! How are you enjoying the play, honey? Here, have some candy'), and if there was anything Sarah hated it was being babied. Being inundated with lollipops and pats to the head didn't make being treated like a toddler feel worthwhile.

Eventually, they reached Jeremy's dressing room. Linda didn't knock, sweeping in unannounced. She released Sarah hand and launched herself on the object of her affection - Jeremy. He was staring forlornly at his reflection, and failed to react. "What's wrong, darling?" Linda asked, draping her arms around his neck and leaning her head against his. "The performance went wonderfully. The audience love you." She planted a moist, crimson kiss besides his ear, murmuring something that Sarah suspected it was in her best interests not to hear.

He sniggered in disdain. "They're not supposed to love me, Linda. I'm hardly playing a sympathetic role."

"Oh. Well, what does that matter? I love you. I'd love you if you were playing Iago."

He didn't respond to her literary name-dropping, instead he looked away from Linda, gazing in Sarah's direction. He smiled at her kindly, rising from his chair and approaching her. He dropped to his knees, and looked directly into her eyes "How are you enjoying the play, dear?"

Sarah looked down instinctively, but to her intense surprise Jeremy put a finger underneath her chin, raising it gently. "Look at me, Sarah. You don't need to be frightened."

Although her eyes darted in various directions at first, they returned to Jeremy eventually. He looked ghoulish, his skin had been caked in white paint and his eyes were surrounded by rings of dark grey powder. Overall, his face was reminiscent of a death mask. Sarah had bolted into the bathroom, shrieking hysterically, upon seeing it for the first time. On this occasion, she simply muttered her answer "It's okay."

"You don't need to say that if that isn't what you think. You have a mind, you have opinions. I would like to hear them."

Sarah lifted her eyes to her mother. Linda's attention was occupied exclusively by her dress, which she was in the process of smoothing down. The child returned her attention to Jeremy, looking at him steadfastly as she told him "It's boring, and I didn't understand a word anyone said."

He smirked at her. "There, that wasn't difficult, was it?"

"You mean you're not angry?"

"Of course not. Shakespeare isn't meant for little girls-"

"Hey! I'm not little! For your information, I was seven two weeks ago." She frowned at him, ensuring he was left in no doubt of her displeasure.

He laughed at the solemnity of her expression "Very well, what would you like to go and see, Miss Williams?"

She screwed up her face, concentrating as she thought about what to answer. "What about _Annie_? I'd love to go and see it, will you take me? Jessica at school went to see it when it opened, and she said it was the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. She's always showing off about it, she gets on my nerves..." Sarah's voice trailed off as she thought about blonde, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth Jessica Berry. Off the top of her head, she couldn't think of anyone in her class that she hated more.

"I'll take you; I'll even introduce you to the cast. I'm certain Jessica won't be able to beat that." Sarah was speechless for a moment, but after taking a few seconds to let the truth sink in she squealed in delight and threw her arms around Jeremy's neck, burying her head into his shoulder.

Linda watched her child's ecstasy with a small measure of amusement "You spoil her as if she were your own daughter."

"No, dear. Look at it this way – we have been subjecting Sarah to our theatrical tastes for the last week, I think it's high time she subjected us to some us hers."

A harassed looking adolescent entered the room, panting. Sweat streamed down his ugly, acne pitted face and his words emerged as gasps "Mr Clavell! Mr Clavell! You have thirty seconds before you're on!"

He disentangled himself from Sarah's arms, rising. Sarah lifted her head to look at him, marvelling at his height "I must say goodbye." He announced "I'll meet you both here after the show. Enjoy it" he looked down at Sarah, who continued to gaze at him as if he had just revealed himself as an angel "In you're case, enjoy your nap." He left, and Sarah heard him complain to the porter as he walked away "It's Cla-vell, not _Clarvell_" he aped the boy's pronunciation of his name, producing a lengthy, nasally drawl "Will you please attempt to remember that in future? I am an important man in this theatre, do you have any idea…" the rest of his words were drowned out by Linda, who seized the opportunity to announce that it was time she and Sarah returned to their box. They couldn't afford to miss Uncle Jeremy beautifully pronounced recitals of Shakespeare.

Sarah laughed giddily. She was very proud of herself by the end of the performance; she had kept her eyes open throughout it all. Paying attention was easy when she learned it was simply a matter of devoting all her attention to Jeremy's chalk white face. The words he was saying didn't really matter, the only thing of real interest about his performance was the way he said them.

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Jeremy stuck to his promise, and he and Sarah had the best seats in the Alvin Theatre the following Saturday. Sarah loved every second of singing orphans and ludicrously inept villains, and was left star struck after patting Annie's dog and shaking hands with the girl who played her. During their meeting, Sarah seized the opportunity to ask the girl if her mop of springy red curls was a wig (the answer was yes). Although neither Jeremy nor Sarah noticed, she didn't ask for her mother once.

Sarah left the theatre belting out _Tomorrow_. Jeremy didn't have the heart to tell her she couldn't sing, and disregarded the glares she received from some of the more ill humoured members of the audience. The faces of the crowd were ignored in favour of Sarah's beaming face, and their conspiratorial whispers were smothered by her happy, high pitched voice.

Jeremy only had eyes for Sarah; it's safe to say her elation would have blossomed into ecstasy if she had noticed.

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A/N: Three down, three to go. Apologies for use of a 'naughty' word, I needed something shocking and have raised the rating of this accordingly (it's practically skyrocketed, from K+ to M in one giant leap!)

Please point out any errors to me; because this is longer than the other installments, there is more chance that I have missed things!

I will reply to reviewers tomorrow, I'm sorry but I really need to get some sleep!

Kindly leave a review in the box, muchas gracias!

P.S. This is attempt at posting Mk. 2. Version One had something of an identity crisis towards the bottom of the page…


	4. Chapter Four: London

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London

Sarah Williams? Yeah, I remember her. She was a cute kid, spoilt and mouthy but cute despite her attitude. It's rare to see such a well turned out girl; when she was brought in she looked like she'd just been modelling for a catalogue or something. I think she had a broken ankle; she was only in for a few days before we sent her home. If I'm remembering things straight, she had to stop going to dancing lessons because of it. She screamed her head off when the Doctor told her and her Dad, howled like a teething baby. I'm pretty sure she would have kicked her legs and thrown a full blown tantrum if her foot hadn't been in a cast. She was that kind of kid; she loved making a scene.

To be honest with you, I remember the people who came to visit her more than the girl herself. Her father was with her when she came in, and stuck with her through the whole night. I thought it was strange at first; in my experience, men catch the first plane out the moment 'children' are mentioned. I'm expert on jerks; it's hard not to be when you've got four kids, live in a two bedroom flat in the crummy part of town and survive off one income. So, let me just say this guy's devotion impressed me.

Anyway, I was working the late shift and was at the nurse's station when this couple turned up. They both had sun glasses on, which I thought was really, really strange because it was two in the morning. My first thought was that they were in the Mafia; I only learned they were actors later. The woman was quite pretty I suppose, her body was buried underneath a vast fur coat and she had long, black hair that had been woven into a thick rope of a plait. The man she was with was what really interested me; he was completely gorgeous. He was tall, blonde and looked like a high class fusion of James Dean and Laurence Olivier. I watched Olivier on TV once; I think it was something by Shakespeare; I say that because I didn't understand what was going on, and that's usually a good sign something was written in the sixteenth century. Anyway, what I'm really trying to say is that Olivier looked good that time I saw him on TV despite the silly, white wig that had been plastered onto his head. And the guy who stood in front of me as I worked the late shift, wearing sun glasses and a killer smile, shared some of his characteristics. Namely blond hair and an accent.

He addressed me first, "Hello. Has a Sarah Williams been checked in?" His voice was gorgeous, all soft, appeasing refinement. He was English, the classiest kind of English man you can get. If he had been in a film, he would have worn a suit and a top hat everywhere he went and travelled around the streets of London in a shiny black carriage. He would have looked real sexy in a suit, I can tell.

It took a lot of self control to treat him professionally "I'm afraid I can't disclose any information about patients unless they're family. Besides, patients aren't supposed to have visitors until the afternoon. Are you related?"

The woman took a step forward; I remember noticing her heels when I peered over my desk. They were a bright, fire hydrant red and rose dramatically from the ground, they must have been about five inches high. "I'm Sarah's mother." She was blatantly a New Yorker. I felt slightly let down. Her hair and her eyes had let me to anticipate a soft, Irish lilt. I was suprised to find she sounded just like the slutty cheer leader that had tormented me at school for wearing second-hand shoes.

I was tempted to be hostile, but treated her to my telephone voice instead "Well, I'm afraid her father's with her now. Did you tell him you were coming?"

"Of course. I told him I was flying over as soon as he told me what had happened. Now, where is she? I want to see my baby."

At this moment, Mr. Williams turned up. He looked ready to kill someone when he saw the couple, and I tensed in anticipation. Watching them stare at each other was like watching the closing moments of a soap opera; the situation just oozed tension.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. I scanned him quickly; his face was contorted and his fists were clenched. I was tempted to say something, you know, and be a kill joy, but I didn't. I wanted to see where things would go, which was bad of me I guess. Then again, working the late shift gives you room for mistakes. There are less people around to notice if you slip up; it's only ever me and a few other girls like me. Apparently, the night shift is staffed exclusively by the desperate. That's the joke among the day people, anyway. Bitches.

The woman answered him defensively. "We're here to see Sarah. Did you really think I wouldn't come?"

"That's exactly what I thought, and you know why."

The man took a step forward, staring intently at the girl's father "Look, don't be petty Richard-"

"It's Robert." The correction left his mouth through a set of tightly gritted teeth.

"Oh, I_ am_ sorry." His apology sounded deliciously condescending. "We're only here to see Sarah. You know how she _loves _seeing Linda - you're not going to be cruel enough to turn us away, are you?"

He said nothing, turning his head away from the man and staring at the floor so intently it had might as well have just insulted his mother.

The Englishman turned his head to me, smiling brilliantly as if he were priming himself for an appearance on camera "Now, will you please show us to Sarah's room?"

I leaned over my desk slightly, pointing down the hall. "It's four doors down, on the left." I glanced at Mr Williams, who continued to glare at the floor "I think you had better make it quick."

The man nodded and took the arm of the mother, leading her off in the direction of the room. I returned my attention to the girl's father "Are you alright, Mr Williams? Are you sure you don't mind them seeing her?"

He raised his head, smiling at me bitterly "Let me put it this way, there's nothing I could have done to stop them. The only person I know better at getting their own way than my ex-wife is her partner." He paused, producing a sound like sounded a mix between a sigh and a yawn "She – I mean my little girl, by the way - complained that her foot's hurting, is there anything you can give her for the pain?"

"You bet. I'll take something in for her now."

"That's great, thanks. You don't have a coffee machine here, do you?"

I nodded briskly. I was an expert on the location of the coffee machine, I only knew more about the restroom. "If you go through the double doors to the right, go straight on until the end of the corridor and turn left. It will be right in front of you."

He nodded and moved away, shuffling towards the doors. The poor guy looked ready to drop, even when seen from the back. It was obvious from the slow, laboured way he walked.

I fetched some weak, child friendly painkillers and went into the girl's room. The man and the woman were sat by her bed, the mother held her little girl's ash white hand and her partner spoke to the child animatedly, gesticulating extravagantly with his arms and warping his face into an assortment of amusing forms. She giggled quietly, smiling up at him adoringly from her pillow. When he wasn't saying anything funny, she was perfectly silent and immobile. She gazed at him rapturously, to look at her you would think she was in the presence of the most beautiful creature in the world.

I watched them from the door, just as absorbed as the child. I must have looked on for a minute or two before pulling myself together. I felt bad when I asked the couple to leave, and smiled at them guiltily as they left.

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Yeah, that guy was wonderful. A total dreamboat. I wish I knew his name. You don't know it, do you?

Well, do you?

Do you?

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A/N: Thanks for reading, and I would appreciate it if you could take the time to review.

As I'm sure you have picked up, this is an exercise in perspective…

I won't bite - promise!


	5. Chapter Five: Wedding

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Wedding

Two girls were sprawled over the grass, gazing up at the clouds as they inched hesitantly through the sky. One of them was fair and dumpy; the other was dark and had skinny, unsubstantial limbs that gave the impression she was seven rather than ten. The dark haired girl shredded shoots of grass lazily in her hands, talking to her friend casually as she destroyed them "I'm gonna have the best wedding in the world."

"What's it gonna be like?"

"I'll leave home in a white carriage, and the carriage will be pulled by six cute, white ponies. The church will be huge, taller than the state of liberty – its spire will touch the sun, it'll need to be that big because of all the guests I'm gonna have. I'm friends with tons of famous people, you know. I've met Patti LuPone."

"Really?"

"You bet. And the _Annie _girl. Anyway, my dress – it's gonna be massive. The skirt will be pearly white and so big I won't be able to walk through normal doors - I'll need ten bridesmaids to carry it for me. There will be diamonds on the top of it, and heaps of ribbons in my hair. They'll be one for every colour of the rainbow – yellow, blue, red, orange, purple – you name it, I'll have it." Sarah paused, mentally assessing what she had said before adding "Oh yeah, it will be glittery all over."

"Like a disco ball?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"What's your husband gonna look like?"

Sarah sniggered, turned her head and smirking slyly at her friend "I can't tell you that. Let me just say this; we'll love each other for ever and ever and he'll buy me everything I say I want."

"Describe him, go on."

"I told you – I can't."

"Don't be a spoilsport!" Alice chided "Just make something up, you know, like you did before."

Sarah frowned; all of the humour that had characterized her face before drained away "Hey! I'm not making this up! I was telling you my plan. My special, secret plan."

"Don't be silly. You can't tell what's gonna happen to you when you're old enough to get wed, no one can."

Sarah's eyes shone with tears and she got off the grass, turning away from Alice sharply as she dried her face roughly with her hands. "I thought you were my friend," she murmured, sniffing loudly "I, I thought you were interested in hearing what I had to say."

Alice panicked, rising quickly "I am! C'mon, Sarah. Don't get upset."

Alice moved around until she was facing Sarah and extended her arms in an attempt to draw her into a hug, only for Sarah to push her away roughly "No!" She cried, turning pale and staring at Alice in horror. "Don't come near me! You're not my friend! No one's my friend! No one understands me," suddenly, Sarah's voice went quiet; it wavered slightly. She seemed troubled, maybe even anxious. "I'm all alone and … and that's the way I like it! I hate you! I hate everyone!" She turned away and ran, heading for the trees and leaving her dumfounded friend behind her.

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Sobbing loudly, Sarah walked until she was found herself in a remote, sun warmed clearing. It was so wild she suspected hers were the first human eyes to see it. The tops of the grass tickled her knees and when she looked closely Sarah realized that she was in the presence of dozens and dozens flowers – she recognized daisies, pansies and crocuses, but saw dozens of other blossoms she didn't know the names for.

She was dazzled by it, and felt slightly overwhelmed by the beautiful scents that pervaded the air. She couldn't help but wonder if she had stumbled into the fairy Kingdom by mistake. Her Uncle Jeremy had told her stories about it to send her to sleep when she was little. According to him, fairies were sweet, pretty things that had flimsy, iridescent wings and lived in tiny houses they had fashioned out of fat, red topped mushrooms. She lowered herself carefully onto her belly, crippling a long stretch of grass as she settled, and began investigating. She hoped to glimpse an inch high door, and squinted to get a better look. The only noteworthy creature she saw was a highly alarmed ant, and Sarah soon became bored and gave up her search, plucking a daisy from the ground and rolling onto her back.

She started stripping the flower of its petals one by one. She closed her eyes, and started speaking "He loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…" at this point in the game, Sarah stopped. She opened her eyes and looked down at the daisy. All of its petals had gone; only its golden centre remained.

"Oh my. He loves me." She said the words again, allowing elation to set in "He loves me!" She exclaimed the words this time, springing up and gazing directly at the sky. The sun had poked through the clouds, and Sarah's eyes closed instinctively to protect themselves from the light. Even though white spots moved in front of her eyes like crazed dancers, Sarah didn't feel dizzy when she opened them. She felt blessed.

He loved her.

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A/N: Yo. One left now, thanks for reading people and please be kind enough to leave a review. I will answer questions, within reason anyway ;). Thanks.

I am very tired now, but will reply to reviews tomorrow.

Gute Nacht.


	6. Chapter Six: Silence

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Silence

Sarah stared at her father and her soon-to-be stepmother in silence. Both of them were dressed in their cheap, shame worthy evening wear. Her father's suit didn't fit him properly because he had put on too much weight over Thanksgiving, and Irene's dress sparkled like a gaudily lit Christmas tree. They both looked terrible; she had to fight a desire to cringe.

They always managed to disappoint her; they always went about things in the wrong way.

In fact, Sarah couldn't think of a single time they had done something right,

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Very slowly, Sarah started backing up the stairs, addressing the adults before her while shaking her head over and over again "I won't do it. I wouldn't do it if you paid me a million dollars!" She turned around and barrelled up the stairs with a frustrated shriek. The sound of her feet pounding against the staircase was followed by the crash of her bedroom door, which was in turn followed by silence.

Irene glanced at her fiancée awkwardly; her discomfort was blatant in everything, from her stiff posture to her anxiety etched face. Robert put a hand on her shoulder, patting it apologetically. "Don't worry about her too much. She was never going to agree straight off the bat."

"You make it sound like she'll agree eventually. I can't see that happening, Robert. She knows her own mind."

"Oh, don't worry. She'll do it. She's only twelve; I'm not prepared to give her a choice." Irene eyed him dubiously, and Robert attempted to convince her of the feasibility of what he was saying "Look, she loves dressing up. She'll come around when we tell her she can pick her dress. We'll make a big fuss of her and everything - she'll love it."

"We can only hope that."

"I guess. Anyway, come on, let's go. She just needs some time to let off steam; she'll be fine by the time we're back."

Irene glanced back up the stairs as they left the house, hoping that she might detect some kind of movement. She wasn't surprised to see that Sarah's door remained firmly shut. She didn't want to feel hated; ideally she wanted Sarah to like her. Unfortunately, four years of teaching Sarah ballet had taught Irene that that was never going to happen. Sarah's future stepmother had resigned herself to the fact she could only realistically hope for toleration.

She left quietly with her husband, closing the door softly so Sarah wouldn't hear them leave.

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Sarah was completely alone in her room. She had retreated to her bed and lay flat on her stomach, flipping through the pages of her scrapbook idly. Her attention was periodically captured by a gushing article some over-eager journalist had written about her mother, distracting her from her search for her favourite photo of her dear, Uncle Jeremy.

She smiled when she found what she was looking for, staring at his image and allowing herself to imagine the sound of his voice for a moment before closing the book and returning it to its place on her dresser.

Sarah left her room softly, entering her father's bedroom without hesitation. Isolation had its advantages.

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Irene and Robert returned three hours later. Irene was laughing giddily at one of Robert's silly jokes and he smiled at her broadly in appreciation. He remembered exactly why he loved her when she smiled; she mirrored his own happiness. The front door key was pushed in the direction of the lock unsuccessfully; it took Robert several attempts to insert it properly, by which time he and Irene were crippled by laughter.

Both of them staggered inside, continuing to laugh. Irene glanced up the stairs, and instantly remembered Sarah. "Shush." She said, "We'll wake Sarah."

"Oh, yeah." Robert composed himself with surprising ease, and they both started removing their coats in silence. Both of them climbed the stairs, somehow managing to overcome them without slipping.

Irene glanced at Sarah's door as they moved towards their bedroom, and frowned when she saw that it was ajar. She grabbed Robert's arm, inclining her head towards it "Should I check on her? Y'know, just to make sure she's okay."

"Sure, why not?" Robert hadn't noticed it was eleven at night. He occupied a cushioning, drunken haze that obscured his strictly upheld rule about being-in-bed-by-nine.

Irene knocked on Sarah's door, unable to shake a vague yet disquieting sense of concern. "Sarah? Are you in there, dear?"

There wasn't an answer, so Irene knocked again, more loudly. "Sarah? I'm sorry if I've woken you, but I'm just checking you're okay. Can I come in?"

Sarah didn't answer.

"I'm gonna come in, now. I just want to make sure-" Irene stopped speaking when she entered the room. The light had been left on, but the bedroom was empty. Sarah had gone.

Robert, sobered by a sudden dreadful, stab of fear, started searching the house. He ran from room to room and hollered his daughter's name so loudly the neighbour's dog started barking. Irene remained upstairs and, not really knowing what to do, approached Sarah's bed. She discovered a note on the pillow. It read:

_Dear Daddy_

_Don't worry about me – I've gone somewhere safe._

_I hope you're happy._

_I love you lots. _

_Sarah xxx_

Irene shouted for Robert. He ran up the stairs, snatching the letter from her and scanning it feverishly. He cried out in frustration upon reading it, dropping his head in guilt and struggling to suppress a series of gulping, frightened sob. After a few moments, he managed to speak "Ring the police."

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Sarah felt very important and grown-up at the train station. She had stolen one of Karen's bras and a pair of her nicest heels, stuffing the bra with toilet paper to create cleavage and wearing three pairs of socks to prevent the shoes from slipping off. She had copied her make-up from the cover girl on the bumper summer fashion issue of _Vogue_ magazine and felt like the epitome of style. A man stared at her as she walked into the station, and she smiled at him coquettishly. She felt like a wonderful success.

"One ticket to New York, please." She said.

The woman behind the counter gave her an amused stare "What station do you want?"

Sarah paused, thinking desperately. She blurted out "The one in the center."

"D'you mean Grand Central Station?"

"Yeah. That's what I mean."

The woman told Sarah exactly how much a ticket would cost, and Sarah stared at her in dismay "Is it really that expensive?"

"It's a three hour journey, honey. It was never gonna be cheap." Reluctantly, Sarah counted out the correct amount of notes. She felt a little bit afraid when she saw how little she had left after passing the money over. She would barely be able to buy herself a decent meal, let alone a place to sleep. But she didn't let her fears show, taking her change without hesitation and smiling at the cashier. She didn't receive a smile in return, and Sarah frowned as soon as she turned her back to the woman.

The train took thirty minutes to arrive, and Sarah spent those minutes staring at her nails and wondering if using red nail varnish had been a mistake. She didn't like the way the hobo on the opposite platform was staring at her legs, and started questioning the wisdom of wearing fish-net tights. She was shivering from the cold by the time the train arrived, and felt a warm flush of relief after boarding it. She found herself a seat in a remote area of the train, and fell to sleep almost instantly, glad for a comfy seat and warm air.

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Jeff looked closely at the photo he had been given. It wasn't the best photo in the world. The girl in it was frowning and had her head turned slightly away from the camera, he couldn't help but wonder what her relationship with her parents was like if that was the best photo they had of her. Still, he could make out the basics. She looked about ten or eleven (although he had been told she was twelve), had dark hair and a cute, pouting mouth. But he had been told to expect a disguise of some description, so kept an open mind.

He felt sorry for the parents; he always did when it came to missing kids. He got told to keep his eyes open for run-aways several times a month, but had yet to find a single one.

The girl would stick out like a sore thumb, he knew that much. The trains were pretty much deserted around midnight, and the people that did travel on them were generally deranged or dangerously eccentric. Jeff doubted an immature looking twelve year old would make a convincing junkie, and there was no way in hell she would be able to pass herself off as a poetry spouting college professor.

He made his way through the train surprisingly quickly. It was moving at a relatively sedate speed, and he wasn't finding many people to check up on. He saw several older teenagers that he suspected were college drop outs, a clear eyed old lady who murmured to herself indistinctly and stroked her knee and a greying businessman who had an obnoxiously loud snore. He ignored all of them. Humans became sparser as he moved through the train, at one point he passed through three carriages in a row without seeing a single face.

As he neared the tail of the tree, he found himself in yet another seemingly vacant carriage. He was about to leave it when he heard someone breathing. He glanced to his left; a dark haired girl was huddled in the corner, her ludicrously dressed legs had been lifted onto the seat and she had pressed her head into the corner where the back of her seat met the side of the train. She slept soundly, and looked far more serene and peaceful than he had imagined was possible from studying her photograph.

He fished the photo out of his pocket, and compared it with the face of the child sleeping in front of him to make sure. After returning the image to his pocket, he removed his walkie-talkie from his belt and activated it, whispering "I've found her."

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When she was returned home, Sarah refused to answer her father's questions. He asked her where she had been going. She wouldn't tell him, she suspected he knew. After all, he must have told the police something about where she had been heading. Next, he asked her where she had got a hundred dollars from. She kept her mouth shut.

She endured being shouted at, refusing to give her father an inch.

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In the end, she was a bridesmaid at her father's wedding. She devoted all of her energies to upstaging the bride, gabbling loudly about pointless things whenever she had the opportunity and tripping up on purpose while the professional photos were being taken.

A crowd of people descended upon her when she fell, fussing, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words as she howled in affected pain.

Seeing her newly created stepmother gaze at her in dismay almost made not being with Jeremy feel worthwhile.

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A.N: And that's it folks! Come on, I have at least fifty 'regular' readers for this. It doesn't take a minute to leave a review, especially now this is finished! I really want to know what you think, and as I have said before I will answer any questions you may have.

Thanks for reading!


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